


Lay Down Your Guns

by tattooeddevil



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil





	Lay Down Your Guns

His head hurt like something else. Not even the migraines he had when he was young were this bad. He gingerly opened an eye to squint around himself. A half-dark room; old dusty chair in one corner, sagging dresser in the other. Double doors leading to what looked like a kitchen. Or maybe a bathroom. Both maybe? There was definitely a tub in there.

Something niggled at the back of his mind, as if his brain was trying to tell him something. It just made his head pound more and he slipped his eye back shut. The mattress below him was soft, too soft, but it was nice for the moment. Steady, still. It didn’t occur to him to wonder where he was or if he was in any danger until he heard the soft clearing of a throat somewhere by his feet.

He lunged himself off the bed, blindly groped for his shield that wasn’t there and stumbled when his head loudly and painfully complained about the sudden change in position. He clutched his head with a groan and squeezed his eyes shut, the sudden spike of alertness forgotten in favour of whimpering.

A male voice sounded from his left, way too loudly for how much his head was hurting. “My apologies, I didn’t think you were awake yet.”

He threw a hand out and shuffled in the direction of where he thought his bed was until his hand met the mattress and he gratefully crawled onto it. He curled in on himself at the top of the bed as much as he could, far away from the man at the foot of the mattress.

“You **are** Steven Grant Rogers, yes?”

He groaned an affirmative; even the sound of his own grunt hurt his head.

“My head--what--ouch.”

There was a creak in the floorboards from the foot of the bed, but Steve couldn’t be bothered to check if the man at the foot of his bed was just shifting his stance or gearing up to pounce and beat him up. He was in too much pain.

“Ah yes, my apologies. Again. The transition can be painful for some humans. It should ease off in a few hours.”

Steve groaned pitifully. Hours?!

“Though there is something I might be able to do. I’m not really allowed--but--just--hold still.”

More floorboards creaked and then a hand pressed into his forehead. Instant relief swept through Steve when the migraine lifted. He opened his eyes and looked up at the man standing over him. The man raised an eyebrow in question, Steve nodded. The man stepped away to return to his place at the foot of the bed so Steve could sit up, his back touching the wall. It seemed like he was trying to disappear into the wall, as if he shouldn’t be there.

“Who are you?”

The man hesitated for a moment before answering. “My name is Gadreel. I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“Bullshit.” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. The man-the **angel** -refrained from rolling his eyes, but his tone of voice clearly suggested he really wanted to.

“I assure you, I am who I say I am. You are in heaven, though you haven’t realized it yet. Your memory is still rebuilding after the transformation.”

Steve could feel the headache coming back and he rubbed his temple with two fingers. “That makes even less sense.” He looked back up at Gadreel. “Heaven? Why am I in heaven? Am I dead?”

Gadreel frowned as if confused. “Yes. What other reason would there be for you to be in heaven?”

Steve paused, then sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t expect to die yet. I mean--”

“You are Steven Grant Rogers. You were born in 1920 and died for the first time in 1945. Heaven sent you back in 2012 to finish your assignment. You died a second time in 2083 aged 96, two days ago.”

Steve gaped at Gadreel; no way was what he was saying possible. Something inside of him told him he knew about being--gone from time for a while before coming back. But growing old? He glanced down at his body; his skinny, young body. Nothing 96 years old about it. Gadreel was regarding him with mild curiosity when he looked back up. “This is Heaven, **your** Heaven. Look around, do you recognize where you are yet?”

Suddenly the room looked familiar. The chair that had come with the apartment and Steve had always suspected someone had died in. The easel that he saved up for to buy for ages. The wooden board on top of the tub masquerading as kitchen table. The radio that Bucky had spent many nights trying to fix so Steve had something to listen to while he was sick.

“Bucky.”

He stood up, walked around his old Brooklyn apartment. Touched the drawings on the wall; **his** drawings. Most of them were of the neighbourhood, Bucky, his mother. “My mother.”

He turned to Gadreel, hope curling in his chest. “What time is this? I mean--when is this? The year?” He glanced at his body again. “I am in my old body, my old apartment. I’m 20? 21? Is my mother still alive? I mean--here?”

Gadreel shook his head. “Heaven--doesn’t quite work like that. Your Heaven is yours, everyone else gets their own. Only special cases, soulmates, share a Heaven.”

Steve stared. Gadreel seemed entirely serious about everything. Steve dying. Steve being 96 when he did. Steve being in Heaven. His old apartment being his Heaven. But-- “Bucky? James Buchanan Barnes?”

“What about him?”

“Is he here? In Heaven? His own Heaven?” A flash of a black mask, long hair and unrecognizing eyes came to Steve then, making his heart sink. “Or--If Heaven is real, is there a Hell too?”

But Gadreel just shook his head. “I don’t know where James Buchanan Barnes is. Though I do know there is in fact a hell.” He paused. “I’m not actually--I don’t know where your friend is.”

Steve caught the hitch in his words though. “You’re not actually what? An Angel? I knew it!”

Gadreel did in fact roll his eyes this time. “I assure you I **am** an Angel. I’m just not supposed to--well, be here.”

“What does that mean?”

Gadreel stayed silent for so long, obviously uncomfortable answering, that Steve felt momentarily bad for the Angel. If he was an Angel, he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all some very weird dream. “I was punished. Made some bad decisions. Cas--Heaven reinstated me in their ranks after I sacrificed myself to defeat Meta--to help win a war, but I am on probation. I am just supposed to get newly transitioned humans settled into their Heavens and leave before they wake. Inductions are usually done by specially appointed Angels.”

There were more questions after that little speech than there were answers, but somehow Steve believed Gadreel. Or maybe that was just his Irish Catholic upbringing wanting to believe he was actually in actual Heaven talking to an actual Angel. It was a nice thought. And if he was wrong, if this was all a really strange dream, he would wake soon enough and be back to his normal life. Where he was apparently 96 years old.

He shook his head and decided to just take the plunge. “Okay, I’ll bite. If you’re not supposed to be here, then why are you?”

Gadreel looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I was tasked with bringing you in. I didn’t know who you were, but the drawings. I recognized them. I mean, the subjects on them. I am a--fan.”

An incredulous laugh bubbled up from Steve’s chest. “An Angel of the Lord is a Captain America fan?”

Gadreel nodded, suddenly serious again. “All Angels spend time on earth to learn the ways of humans. We study them and their idiosyncrasies. I liked comics. The societal commentary they give to the world. And I am a soldier. A soldier of Heaven. Captain America was--inspirational.”

Steve held up a hand to stop Gadreel. “Okay, look. Let’s say I believe you and I am in Heaven. I lived to see 96, died, and came here; my own personal Heaven and you are an Angel. Let’s say I believe all of that, then tell me this: what now?”

“Now you rest. Live on in Heaven.”

Out of reflex, Steve snorted. Nothing was ever that easy, certainly not for him. He spent his entire life fighting bad guys, aliens, robots; together with the Avengers and anyone else they could find willing to help them protect the earth. Even after he handed his shield to Bucky, and when Bucky wanted out to Sam, he fought and helped where he could. He never really did retire, not even when he turned 75, or 80, or even 95. Oh.

“Oh.”

He stared at Gadreel, who nodded. “You remember everything now.”

Memories flooded into his mind. Loki, the Collector, Peggy, Baron Zemo, Peter Quill, the Red Skull, Kang, S.H.I.E.L.D., Doctor Doom, Bucky. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. And the ultimate bullet that ended his life.

“Someone shot me.”

Gadreel nodded again, but didn’t offer any explanation or further information. Steve guessed it wasn’t important. Not anymore. He was dead, in Heaven. Without Bucky.

He was about to ask Gadreel about Bucky again, he had to know where Bucky was or how Steve could get to him. Steve found him once, he would find him again. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, hadn’t been for so long. He got better, joined the Avengers team, though he was never the old Bucky. But the new Bucky had been equally as amazing, strong, generous, funny, charming and obnoxious as the old Bucky had been and Steve had loved him with all of his heart and soul. He still did. 

Bucky was alive when Steve died, living next door to Steve in one of Stark’s buildings in DC. They had grown old together, always by each other’s side, and Steve missed him already.

His own Heaven, without Bucky.

Gadreel cut him off before he could voice his question though, suddenly alert to something Steve couldn’t see or hear.

“I have to go. Your induction will start soon.” He turned strangely pleading eyes on Steve. “Please, do not tell them I was here. It wouldn’t be--good for me.”

Steve shook his head without really thinking about it. “Yeah sure, you got it. I won’t. What is this induction you--”

But in a flurry of wind and--feathers? Gadreel was gone. Ten seconds later the front door of his apartment opened and revealed a politely smiling woman.

“Steven Grant Rogers? I am Hannah, welcome to Heaven.”

*****

Three days later, there’s a quick rap on his door. The all too familiar voice fills the apartment before he has a chance to turn around from where he was reading in his bed.

“Up and at ‘em, punk! Stop moping Steve, did you really think we weren’t gonna be soulmates?”

He turned over to grin at Bucky. “Not really, but it took you long enough to get here!”


End file.
